"Hallo!" he called gaily.
Rosemary went deliberately back to the glass door. She paused under the lintel; then she said earnestly:
"Don't go to Hódmezö to-day, Peter. I am sure there is no necessity for you to go. You can book rooms by telephone, and, anyway——" She paused a moment and then went on more earnestly still: "Wait another twenty-four hours, Peter. Don't go till—till after the ball."
Peter did not look at her. He was taking careful aim with the stick and the tennis ball. He made a swinging hit and watched the ball fly away over the lawn. Then he threw the stick down and turned to Rosemary.
"Sorry," he said lightly, "but I have promised."
She gave an impatient sigh, and after another second's hesitation once more turned to go.
"I say," he called after her, "what about a game of tennis? There's just time for a set before I need make a start."
But by now all temptation to talk openly with Peter had vanished. What would be the use of telling this irresponsible boy anything? Jasper was right. Elza was right. Only she, Rosemary, was foolish, and her vaunted knowledge of human nature nothing but vanity. She had only sufficient self-control left to call back lightly to him:
"No, thank you, Peter, I am rather tired."
Then she fled precipitately out of the room.